


Penneth

by Ravenclaw_Peredhel



Series: The Jewel Queen of the Woodland [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Baby Legolas Greenleaf, Good Parent Thranduil, Thranduil Not Being An Asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:01:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26821840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenclaw_Peredhel/pseuds/Ravenclaw_Peredhel
Summary: From meeting Legolas to a new job.
Relationships: Legolas Greenleaf & Original Female Character(s), Legolas Greenleaf & Thranduil
Series: The Jewel Queen of the Woodland [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956310
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Penneth

Over the next century, Dolenwen worked in the kitchens. She was somber and quiet initially, her blue eyes bent ever downwards upon whatever fantastical creation she was bringing to life, speaking only with Lisyawen, who remained her firm friend. Gradually though, she began to smile and laugh with the other cooks and kitchen workers. She did not remember anything important from before the moment she woke up, other than the name Tyelpë. However, they found that she had an astoundingly beautiful voice. Someone had been humming a tune they had once heard when passing the Noldorin encampment during the War of Wrath, and when they faltered upon reaching the last of the bars they had heard, a soft, clear voice, so heart-achingly lovely it would bring the Dark Lord himself to tears, picking up the simple air. Afterwards, she often sang, sometimes quietly under her breath as she worked, sometimes out loud at the end of the day, when the kitchen staff were all lounging in front of the fire. She knew almost every song she was asked to sing, and those she could not she picked up within a few minutes of hearing it. The rest of the staff were trying to help her regain her memory, and found that she could play any instrument as well. 

Sometime, she had terrible reactions to seemingly unrelated things. The hiss of a snake made her reach for a sword that was not there, the whizz-thunk of an arrow brought a scream to her lips. When they tried to see if the forges would trigger something, she ended up breaking down on the threshold, clasping the simple mithril locket which was the only thing remaining of her old life, though it was welded closed by whatever heat and fire had nearly ended her life close to a century ago. 

For all that she was, for the most part, happy, she had not regained a single second of memory over the last century, save for a brief flash of a fiery arrow piercing the throat of someone in a tent next to her. Oh many times an image or sound would flash across her mind, but they never stayed, other than that one image.

*************

It was Dolenwen's turn to bake the morning bread, a chore that she enjoyed, as it allowed her mind to wander, probing at the blank wall of memories as she sang songs of white shores and green hills across the Sundering Seas. They had found that the happier the songs she sang as she cooked, the better what she made. Once, she sang of the Kinslaying of Alqualondë and the soup tasted like blood, though they managed to make another in time to send it to the feast. The running hypothesis was that she had some power through her song.

She hummed the last triumphant few bars to herself as she swung the oven door closed. She cleaned up quickly, singing a different song, a nonsense ditty about the waves competing over who went farthest up the beach that had a rhythm to it that you could not help dancing to. As soon as the few specks of flour and dirty bowls were away, Dolenwen whirled across the cavernous kitchen, flinging her arms out in ecstasy as her feet flashed in intricate patterns along the flagstones. Just before she reached the door, a pause came in the song and she stopped. Then paused longer than the song demanded and swung open the door. As she had thought, there in front of the door was an elfling. He could not be more than a decade old, though with all the orphaned or one parented children around one could never be sure, with fine clothes indicating that he was the child with parents of some stature and hair as golden blond as... who's? The image of a tall blond ellon flitted across her mind so fast that she didn't even see it.

"Hello little one." She said, wondering if he was old enough to speak. He jumped and looked up, shy blue eyes filled with tears. She sighed and crouched down next to him. "Are you alright penneth? Do you need a hug?" He nodded and she picked him up, placing him on her hip as she glided towards the huge benches that they normally prepared the vegetables on, her steps smooth from endless drills on how a proper young lady should walk from...? She ignored the dead ended thought with the ease of long practice and set the little child on the bench. He looked up at her with curious eyes and she smiled down at him. "Do you want to tell me penneth? You don't have to if you don't want to, but I have found that talking often helps." He looked at her, his eyes piercing for all his youth and nodded. 

"My ada hates me." 

''Surely not." Then an instinct from a time she had forgotten kicked in, and she followed it. "Why do you think so penneth?"

His blue eyes, much lighter than her own, though no less vibrant, began to spill the tears down his cheeks. "I w...w...wanted to say good morning to Ada, but he didn't want to talk to me. H...h...he said to go away, because he w...w...was working, and d...didn't h...have time for ch...ch...children." And the poor child burst into tears for real. Dolenwen hesitated. From the sound of it, the father of this child, whoever he was was high up in the court, and if she interefered, she could get in real trouble. Then she looked at the little one again and her heart melted. She could at least try to cheer the child up.

"Well, it sounds like he is very busy indeed. Perhaps he is just tired, and that is why he is grumpy. Tell you what penneth, lets make him his favourie thing to eat. Do you know what that is?" The little boy titled his head to the side before a bright smile lit up his face.

"The little cakes that are crispy outside and then white and gooey inside and always have cream and fruit on them!" He squealed, bouncing up and down before sobering. "You can make them, can't you?" Dolenwen smiled at the question.

"Why yes penneth. In fact, they are my speciality. Why don't I teach you to make them?" 

*****************

Thranduil sighed as he pushed open the kitchen door. Legolas had run off earlier that morning as he had snapped at him for interrupting him as he worked over the trade agreement with Eregion. He had felt terrible afterwards, but could not find his little son to apologise. When he saw the scene in the kitchen, he froze. He had fought in the War of Wrath and knew a warrior within a split second. Cautiously, he analysed the situation. The unknown elleth held herself not with the awkward carriage of someone attempting to imitate nobility, but with the poise and grace of a lady, nay a princess even and she wielded the knife not with the awkward skill of someone who had been trained as a matter of course by a teacher in a class of hundreds but with the unconscious grace of one who had had the movement drilled into them by hours of bruising practice under a harsh teacher. She was chopping fruit, which his son then placed on the little cakes spread out on the bench. From what he could see of her profile against the firelight, she had the proud carven features of the Noldorin nobles, yet she wore a plain grey dress with an equally plain and servicable apron. He tilted his head considering. 

Deciding that his son was in no immediate danger, he cleared his throat. The mysterious elleth whirled, the knife spinning in her hand to a position from which she could easily respond to a threat. Upon seeing him, her eyes widened, and she dropped into a graceful curtesy. He paused. She was very beautiful, so beautiful that it took his breath away, with skin as white as the snow which lay outside and lips as red as the blood which haunted his memory. Her hair was as black as the raven's wing, with the same indigo hues as the flickering firelight played on it. She was tall, nearly as tall as he and her figure was more voluptous than elves tended to be. But what stood out most about her was her eyes, huge and blue, not the ice-blue of his own, but the dark, vibrant blue of the sea. He realised that he had been staring, and shook himself. What kind of a prince and diplomat was he if he was struck dumb by a pretty elleth.

"Rise, you need not stand upon such courtesies so early in the morning...forgive me, I do not know your name." The elleth's cheeks coloured slightly.

"There is nothing to forgive. I do not know either Prince Thranduil, but they call me Dolenwen."

"Secret-Maiden. Ah, you are the one they found after the war then?" She nodded, before Legolas ran up to him with one of the cakes he had been bent over so industriously.

"Ada! Ada! I made you a cake, all for yourself!" Thranduil took the slightly lopsided offering a bit dubiously, but when he bit into it, he lost all reservations. It was delicious, crisp and golden outside and soft and gooey within, the fruit and cream on top slightly sour to offset the extreme sweetness of the cake.

"It is delicious ionneg. Have you eaten one?" His little leaf's face fell comically, and he hurried off to sample the fruits of his labours.

*********************

Over the next two years, Thranduil and Legolas grew increasingly close to Dolenwen. She was quiet and polite, but once he got beneath her outer shell, she was fiery, vivacious and highly intelligent. They had many rousing debates and sparring matches, discovering, to Thranduil's delight that they were almost evenly matched, though she could not shoot without breaking down from some forgotten trauma or write poetry worth a damn, and one of her legs pained her if she overexerted, a permanent reminder of how close she had been to death. Rumours began to spread about the elleth from the kitchens who was spending so much time with the Crown Prince and his son, though Oropher shut them down after a serious talk with Thranduil about what was actually happening between him and the elleth, and was much reassured when Thranduil stated that they were merely friends, and she was closer to his son than him.

The three were in the gardens, Legolas running through the piled leaves with shrieks of joy, and Thranduil and Dolenwen sitting against a tree, exhausted from trying to run after him. Suddenly, he turned to Dolenwen and blurted out the idea that had been forming for the last year, before he could lose his nerve. "Would you consider caring for my son?" She gaped at him.

"Your highness, you have known me for all of two years. How can you be sure to trust me with the care of your son?" He smiled rakishly at her.

"Because of that. Most would not hesitate to jump at the idea of working so closely for the royal family, and I would not trust any one of them for a moment. Additionally, I am a good judge of character, and my son even better. If he is happy to be around you, then you are trustworthy. And you are my friend Dolen. I don't have many of those." She smiled, and then nodded hesitantly.

"If those are your reasons then yes sire. I would gladly take any chance to spend more time with your son. He is innocent and happy, something that is rare to find even now. Though," and the mischievous twinkle was back in her eyes, "I wonder how on earth that happened when you are his father." Thranduil mock-gasped, feigning hurt, before jumping up eagerly.

"Then we must get you started at once." He offered Dolenwen his hand, and she took it, standing with the uncanny grace that only those trained so from the womb could achieve it. He freely admitted that a large reason he was so willing to be friendly with were her was that she was so intriguing - she had the training of a noble-woman and the light of the Trees in her face, yet had no memories of anything other than a name that no one recognised. 

**************

Oropher was intimidating, Dolenwen acknowledged that. Yet, she was not frightened of him. She knew she had met kings more powerful than him, perhaps even one of the Valar, though she could not remember. He was lounging, catlike on his throne his blond hair spilling onto his robes from beneath his crown. His blue eyes pierced her as she curtesyed, making her her very aware of her austere and plain dress, and the melted locket peeking out of the collar of it.

"So you are the elleth that has enchanted my son and grandson so quickly." His voice was calm and smooth, but powerful, and it seemed to trigger a memory within her, of a dark haired ellon standing in a crowded square, seven others behind him, each with their swords drawn, their faces fey and mad. She swayed slightly, before nodding. He looked carefully at her, taking in every inch. 

"Well, if Thranduil and Legolas trust you, I suppose you will do." She inwardly cheered, her outward reaction merely a bow of the head and a soft, "Thank you, your majesty."


End file.
